The rest of the night, we lie in the darkness and spend hours just enjoying our closeness as we continue to nurture the bond between us into something that feels unbreakable.
Strong, solid, and sure.
Safe.
One Month later
I’M JUST BARELY HOLDING MY temper back right now.
As I stare down this defiant woman in front of me, her posture is equally as annoyed as mine seeing as we’ve been having the same argument for the last thirty minutes.
“I’m not backing down from this, Kane.”
“Why the fuck not? I don’t understand what the big deal is.”
Her temper flares again, and I have to fight my cock when her tits press against her shirt. She isn’t wearing anything revealing; the long sleeve black shirt covers her completely, but I know what’s under there. When she’s mad, those tits heave, and I’m seconds away from coming in my pants like a little teenage shit.
“The big deal is that I feel like a whore!” she shouts.
My head snaps back at her heated scream, and I can feel my control slipping. A whore? How in the fuck she got that impression is beyond me.
For the last month, we’ve spent every second we weren’t filming—and a few stolen while on set—getting to know each other. We’ve grown from testing the waters to what I had hoped she saw as a relationship. Sure, I haven’t come right out and said the words, but how could she be clueless to how I feel?
She knows everything about me … well, not everything, but this woman knows more about me than my own mother does. I’ve given a hundred percent of myself to her while I watch her become more and more confident. Left no word unsaid that wouldn’t reassure her of my feelings. Fuck, did I ever straight up tell her I wanted a future with her? Now that she’s standing in front of me claiming she feels like a whore, I doubt it.
After that night a few weeks ago, she’s had no trouble letting me in. Just as I’ve shared all with her, she’s done the same with me. We’ve managed to even sneak away for a few carefully executed dates without the media catching wind of our relationship, which I know is only a matter of time.
Which brings us to where we are now.
“A whore?” I repeat through thin lips.
She nods, crossing her arms over her chest and making her tits strain even more against their confinement.
“A whore!” She jumps at my outburst, but I ignore it. She knows I won’t hurt her. “A fucking whore, Willow? When have I ever treated you like that?”
Heat rises to her cheeks, and for a fleeting second, she looks a little embarrassed. Something I haven’t seen on her beautiful face since I broke through the last of her lingering fears about my intentions.
“Well, you haven’t, but if I continue to be paid for a job I am most definitely not really needed for, well… then I’m going to be no better than a whore.”
Is she fucking serious? “Because I’m paying you for a job that you’re doing, you feel like a whore? How is there any logic in that?”
“You’re exasperating!”
“I am?” Fuming now, I try to calm down before continuing. “You started freaking out the second I mentioned you coming to California with me when we finish here. Looking for a reason to run. I’m the exasperating one? Should I remind you that I’m not the one insinuating her boyfriend is making her feel like a whore!”
She had her mouth open to interrupt me before I stopped talking, but the protest she had been ready to throw back dies on her lips. With the color still high on her cheeks, her eyes are wide with shock. She stands before me now looking unable to form another word when for the last half an hour she’s had no issues with that whatsoever.
“What is it now?” I ask with the anger still present in my tone. I ready myself for whatever ridiculous bullshit she’s going to throw in my direction next and try to think of what could possibly be her next excuse for why she can’t come to California when we wrap at the end of the week for our Georgia filming. Why is she trying to leave me?
I brought this up when we finished the filming at the school two weeks ago, but she easily brushed it off. She said we would talk when filming was over at the next few locations here in Georgia, which just so happens to be now.
“What did you just say?” she timidly asks.
I move from the kitchen counter I had been resting on and stalk toward her. She doesn’t move, and her shocked expression doesn’t dim.
If I didn’t want her so desperately, I would throttle her right here.
“Which part? About you trying to think of anything you can to run?”
Her eyes heat. “I’m not running!” she yells.